If the Harrington brothers had Enrico’s seal, there could well be correspondence regarding it. It was a fabulous find. One of the few pieces ever discovered that might lend credence to the existence of the legendary city of Ambropia, if properly authenticated, of course. The discoverer of such an artifact would reap great fame, his reputation and his future assured.
The muscles in her jaw tightened. A reputation and a future that should have been her brother’s, that would have been had not someone stolen the seal. It was a little more than a year ago that Enrico had returned to London with the seal. She had lived with her half brother since she was ten years old, after he found her residing in Italy with distant relatives of their father, two years after his death. But she couldn’t recall ever seeing Enrico more excited about a discovery. Not that he had shown her the piece, only the impression made by rolling the cylindrical seal over wet clay. Her brother was remarkably superstitious about such things. He’d said it would be bad luck to reveal the seal prematurely. After all, Ambropia was clouded in mystery and legend, which included a curse placed by the city’s virgin goddess protector on the heads of those who would disturb its sleep. Now she wondered if he hadn’t been right.
When Enrico had unwrapped the seal in front of the Antiquities Society’s Verification and Allocation Committee, he found a seal of far lesser significance. His claims that someone had stolen his seal and replaced it with a relatively common one did not sway the committee. Especially as Enrico had lost his temper and charged the society itself with trying to ruin him.
Her brother was never the same after that. Recovering the lost seal had consumed him. Competition for an artifact such as this was intense, and Enrico was certain that one of his rivals had stolen the Ambropia seal. He left London to pursue those he’d suspected responsible. His letters to her had detailed his progress as well as listed the names of the men he thought might have taken the seal or hired someone to steal it.
But the letters grew progressively less rational, less lucid, even a touch mad, although Gabriella had refused to see them that way at the time. A mistake she later deeply regretted. If he had taken Xerxes—the manservant who usually accompanied him—or if she had gone with him herself, perhaps…But she hadn’t accompanied her brother on an expedition of any kind for years, not since what she thought of as the “incident,” and she knew then he would never have allowed her to do so.
Then, six months ago, she received word that he’d died in Egypt, allegedly of a fever. The impersonal notice from a minor British foreign officer was accompanied by a crate containing her brother’s possessions. She’d been devastated, of course. Enrico was twenty years older than she and as much father as brother. Aside from relatives of her English mother, whom she’d never met, he was the only family she had. She’d vowed then to find those who were responsible and restore her brother’s reputation.
Now, the answers might be within reach. Absently, she chewed on her lower lip and studied the desk. It was probably locked. Damnation, she should have thought of that and come prepared. This plan was not going substantially better than the last one, and was probably not much smarter.
It wasn’t until after Enrico’s death that Gabriella had discovered they were far better off financially than she’d ever suspected. She was shocked to learn that their father had left the bulk of his significant fortune to her. Indeed, from the statements she had seen, it appeared it was her money that provided not only her support, but funding for Enrico’s work as well. Enrico had never mentioned any of this, nor was it necessary for him to do so. As he was away more often than he was in London, his solicitor handled their finances. The solicitor arranged payment of all their expenses, including the fees for her initial schooling, the costs of continuing her studies at Queen’s College, the modest London house where she resided, and the salary of Miss Henry. Florence Henry served as companion, chaperone, and friend, and had been by Gabriella’s side since she first took up residence in London.
But her discoveries weren’t merely financial. She had also found a packet of letters addressed to her mother—the mother who had died giving her birth. She thought they might prove useful someday to find her English relations, should she ever be so inclined. But as they had never sought her out, why should she look for them? Still, one letter in particular might prove useful. Her newfound wealth certainly had.
Though not exorbitantly rich, Gabriella now found herself in command of a sizable fortune. She wasn’t at all used to having money. While it was nice to realize she could afford to do whatever she wished, the very idea of frivolous expenditures brought on a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even so, the now impressive state of her finances made it that much easier when anger and grief prompted her to impulsively travel to Egypt to confront the Harringtons. She was still bothered by twinges of guilt about having deceived Florence on that score. Regardless, it couldn’t be helped, and what Florence didn’t know wouldn’t upset her. Florence believed that she had spent those few months coming to grips with her grief in the peaceful, contemplative setting of a convent in France. And believed as well that Xerxes and his wife, Miriam, had enjoyed a much deserved holiday, waiting for Gabriella in a nearby village rather than on a futile quest to Egypt.
Gabriella wished Xerxes was with her now. Among a number of unique abilities, Xerxes Muldoon could open any lock. She had no idea how he had acquired such a skill, but it was a useful one to have. Still, it was one thing for her to slip into this party alone, and quite another to be accompanied by Xerxes. The product of an Egyptian mother and an Irish father, he was tall and powerfully built, with an exotic look about him. He would not have gone unnoticed. At this very moment Xerxes was waiting with her carriage near the back gate.
No, she would have to do this by herself. She tried the desk drawers; they were indeed locked. It was pointless to look for a key. People who locked drawers would certainly not leave a key lying around in plain sight. There was scarcely anything on the desk at all save an inkstand, complete with inkwell, several pens, and a letter opener with an Egyptian faience scarab affixed to the handle. A gift from the brothers, no doubt, and probably stolen. Gabriella picked up the letter opener and hefted it in her hand. It would prove useful.
She knelt down and studied the center drawer. There was a keyhole in the middle that more than likely released the locks on all the drawers. If she could wedge the letter opener in the thin crack between the drawer and the desk itself, perhaps she could pop the lock and—
“May I be of some assistance?”
Two
Only the top half of her face was visible over the edge of the desk but her blue eyes widened in surprise.
Good. Nate liked surprising a woman, it gave him the upper hand. He had spotted her leaving the ballroom and had assumed she was headed to the ladies’ receiving room. He had planned to wait by the door for her return, but glanced down the corridor to see the library door closing and decided this was the opportunity to make her acquaintance. If, of course, she wasn’t meeting someone else in the library.
He stepped toward her. “May I help you?”
“No, but thank you.” She straightened. She was taller than he had thought when he first saw her but not overly so. She stood about half a head shorter than he, the perfect height.
“May I ask what you are doing in here?”
“What I’m doing in here?” She shrugged graceful shoulders left bare by the apricot gown. “As you have caught me, I suppose I must confess.”
He smiled the slow, slightly wicked smile that had always served him well. While not quite as accomplished as Quint when it came to the fairer sex, Nate had no lack of confidence in his own ability to charm. And this particular smile was his most effective weapon. “Oh, I am fond of confession. Especially when it comes from a beautiful woman.”
She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.” She moved around the desk, a letter opener in her hand. “It’s not an especi
ally exciting confession.”
His gaze slipped over her. He knew little about fashion, but thanks to the ravings of his mother and sister since his return home, he could see her gown was French and in the latest fashion. The silk of the dress molded nicely to curves no doubt enhanced by a corset. Even so, the swell of her breasts revealed by the low cut of her bodice needed no enhancement. Thank God for the French. “I can’t imagine anything you say to be less than exciting.”
She cast him a seductive smile of her own and his mouth went dry. “What a delightful thing to say.”
“Oh, I can say any number of delightful things.” He moved toward her. “I can say how the color of that dress is most becoming with the color of your eyes.”
“My, that is delightful.”
“I can do better. I can say—” His glance fell to the letter opener in her gloved hand. “What are you doing with that?”
She shifted it in her hand, and for the oddest moment he thought she intended to use it as a weapon. “I saw it on the desk and wanted a closer look. Clumsy fool that I am, I dropped it and it fell under the desk.” She handed it to him. “Is the scarab real?”
“As real as something purchased in a market in Cairo can be.” He turned it over in his hand. “I picked it up last year as a gift for my brother’s secretary.”
“Then you are thoughtful as well as charming?”
He laughed. “I can be.” He tossed the letter opener on to the desk. “But you promised me a confession as to why you are here in the library.”
“I have changed my mind.” She raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “It doesn’t seem quite fair for me to confess to you without you confessing to me in return.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Surely you have something to confess? Some misdeed that has weighed heavily on your conscience?”
“Nothing that comes to mind.” He grinned. “Although I will confess I hope you are not here for a clandestine liaison with another gentleman.”
She paused, then heaved a dramatic sigh. “You have found me out. How very embarrassing, especially as it appears he is not coming.”
“But how fortunate for me.” He took her hand and drew it to his lips, his gaze meshing with hers.
“Do you think so?”
“I do.” He kept her hand in his and studied her. “Forgive me but have we met? You look remarkably familiar.”
“You don’t remember?” An odd note sounded in her voice. Nate wasn’t sure if she was offended or relieved.
“My apologies.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine not remembering you but—”
She pulled her hand from his. “I must say this isn’t the least bit delightful.”
“I am sorry—”
“You don’t remember dancing together?”
“No, I’m afraid—”
“A few flirtatious moments during a walk in a garden very much like yours?”
“I can’t recall—”
“A kiss stolen in the moonlight?”
He swallowed hard. “I must be an idiot.”
“Yes, you must.” She flipped open the fan dangling from her wrist and studied him thoughtfully. “Although I suppose you have danced with many women, had many flirtations in gardens, stolen many kisses in the moonlight. It must be difficult to recall every incident, every woman.”
“Yes. No!” Indignation washed through him. “I have never once forgotten—”
She raised a brow.
“Until now.” He huffed. “You have me at a distinct disadvantage.”
“Do I?” she laughed, the sound engaging and infectious. “Now that is delightful.”
He smiled reluctantly. “Who are you?”
“Now, now, if I told you it would quite spoil my fun. And as you don’t remember my name, I think it’s only right that you should have to earn that knowledge.” Amusement glittered in her eyes. “Perhaps if we were to dance again…”
“Or walk in the garden.” He moved closer and gazed into her eyes. “Or kiss in the moonlight.”
“Perhaps,” she said softly.
He lowered his lips to hers.
“But I never kiss anyone a second time who cannot recall kissing me a first time.” She stepped out of his reach and started toward the door.
“A dance, then,” he said quickly. “At least allow me the opportunity to recall a dance.”
She glanced over her shoulder and considered him. “Very well. But I would prefer that we leave the library separately. I should hate to be the subject of gossip.”
“Then I will meet you on the terrace?”
She cast him a brilliant smile, and his heart shifted in his chest. “You may count on it.”
With that she swept from the room, leaving him to stare at the door she’d closed in her wake.
Who was she? She did seem familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place her. Surely he would remember a woman that lovely. He had always been fond of pretty women with dark hair and blue eyes, especially if they were intelligent. And there was no doubt she was clever. She certainly wasn’t one of this year’s new crop of debutantes. Her manner was far too assured. Besides, she looked only a few years younger than he. Perhaps he had met her on his travels. There was the vaguest suggestion of an accent in her voice. It—She was indeed delightful. No, he would remember kissing her in the moonlight.
And with any luck at all, he’d soon have another kiss in the moonlight. And this one he would not forget.
Good Lord, what had come over her?
Gabriella hurried down the corridor, forced herself to adopt a calm air and stepped into the ballroom. She mingled with the crowd, staying toward the perimeter of the room until she reached the open doors to the terrace.
Certainly she had flirted with men before, but never with such abandon. She hadn’t planned to flirt with Nathanial Harrington, it simply happened, almost of its own accord. It wasn’t as if she liked the man. She despised him and his brother. Still, she couldn’t deny he was charming and handsome, with his dark hair streaked by the sun, the devilish glint in his brown eyes, and his broad shoulders. He had the sort of wicked smile that made a woman wonder exactly what wicked things he was thinking. And wonder as well why those improper thoughts were most intriguing.
Nor had she planned to speak to him at all. In truth she hadn’t considered what she might say if she were discovered in the library. The letter opener provided the perfect excuse. If he had come in a moment later she would have been trying to pry the lock open. And that she would have been unable to explain.
She slipped through the doors and out onto the terrace, then began making her way to the steps that led to the garden. He thought she looked familiar, which was disturbing. Hopefully all that nonsense about dancing and kisses in the moonlight would divert his attention. It wouldn’t do for him to realize she was the one who had accosted him in Egypt. He had thought then that she was a man, her brother’s brother, and she preferred he continue to think that.
She reached the stairs to the garden and paused, stepping back to allow a young couple who obviously had improper thoughts of their own to pass. The worst part of the encounter with Mr. Harrington was that she had enjoyed it. There had been an element of danger in their meeting that was intoxicating. And toying with him had been great fun. The uncomfortable look in the man’s eyes when she said they had once kissed was most satisfying. And didn’t he deserve it? Hadn’t he told her his brother had gone to Turkey? She’d had every intention of going after him when Xerxes learned that both brothers were separately headed back to England. Regardless, that venture had proven no more successful than tonight’s.
“Was I mistaken?” Nathanial Harrington emerged from the crowd. “Were we to rekindle my memory with a walk in the garden rather than a dance?”
“I think a walk in a garden with a man who can’t remember a lady’s name would be rather dangerous.” Damnation, she should have left when she had the chance. Still, there was no harm in a single dance. A tiny voice in the back of
her head suggested that’s why she had lingered. Nonsense. Gabriella brushed aside the thought that she might well want to dance with him.
“Yes, of course.” He nodded. “A lady would truly be foolish—”
“I was thinking dangerous for the gentleman.” Lord help her, this was fun.
He stared at her, then chuckled. “Very well, then.” He gestured at the dance floor. “Shall we?”
“I do so love to waltz,” she murmured, and took his arm. It was the most honest thing she’d said to him thus far. He led her onto the floor, and a moment later she was lost.
She did indeed love to waltz. Loved how the music wrapped around her soul and swept her away to a place and time and a life that existed only in her dreams. And only for people like Regina Harrington, who had an earl for a brother and a family willing to do whatever necessary to assure her future, her happiness, and a place where she belonged. Not for people like Gabriella Montini, who had been lost among relatives who cared nothing for her until she was found by a brother who dragged her from one expedition to another, one treasure hunt to the next.
Not that she’d minded. She had loved the life she lived with Enrico. Relished dressing like a boy for safety and being treated like one. She had hated it when her brother realized that his life was no life for a young lady. He had abandoned her in England while he went on with his work, although it was as much her fault as his. And abandoned was not entirely accurate. He had provided for her needs, arranged for her schooling and her expenses. If she had no real home and a family that consisted only of two longtime servants and a paid companion, it was her lot in life, and she’d never been especially discontent. Why it bothered her at this moment, she couldn’t say, save to blame it on the waltz. On the promises inherent in the melody and the rhythm and the warmth of the man whose arm encircled her and who held her hand in his.
And hadn’t she made the best of it? Hadn’t she spent these past nine years studying languages and ancient civilizations, all with an eye toward eventually rejoining her brother? And hadn’t whoever destroyed his life destroyed her future as well?
The Virgin’s Secret Page 3